oh great i cant get health coverage

cant even bathe most days... it's summer.... fuck it.   get real dirty.  my friend made me take a shower cause i smelled.  i pissed in her shower.  the screen door is fickle.  im feelin pretty acute, i guess i dont even know what that word means, cause my vocabulary is obtusely diminishing.  am i actually turning into an animal?  i woke up in the woods twice this week.  i touched with lights off by your scent.  knew the parts close and spread apart.  kind of felt into you, melted halfway in a bed.  i cant keep drinkin with sleepin pills though.  You also cant take somas with cocaine, you might come down nicely or you might have a heart attack.  i dont care, kill me kill me kill me.  my life is goin out of control and i'm happy for it.  go out like a candle, even the stars are violent....i got till august about.  i go to philly wednesday, thatll be great, see ppl.  and start a buzzband with justin next week, get rich, marry some exotic beauty and than go do heroin with a french prostitute, overdose and die in a hotel.  i cant concentrate on writing, it's shit.  maybe ill post somethn worth readin in the next year or so.

kayla

kayla meet me at the needle exchange

did this shit when i was 11

jajaja

explained how painting a picture of a tree is creation in practice.
painting is masturbation. i'm in your blood, you in mine.  You sat beneath your
tiny paintings, 20 dollars each, lookin at me and than lookin away.  drinkin a beer sayin "i usually dont drink i like takin pills instead."  your mouth tastin like silver, skin bland like detroit skylines.  your nails painted green thumbing the pulse in your throat.  i left with my friends, they had to walk me to the hospital.

sylvia plath

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

Staten Island

Staten island by convict gypsy

a   forest combed in city blocks

i     ...wanna... walk to you.... past posted tresspassin

to where the ground meets the moon

th police wont shut me down

no no no ive been locked up once b4

nothins keepn me from u my love...

ur my fav. crackwhore

you see, lately ive been missin you

like Zephyrus misses the East

i hope u know id die for you

i wouldnt even die 4 this country.

so glad u dont do anythin u can 2 make money

someday ill buy a fancy ring, buy you those shoes u thot were pretty

....the seagulls pick at what i lost

up ahead is the bay & the docks, they croon.

id miss my friends i thot.

i hope i see u soon

                               -i love u,

                                lost boy

.(victor)

praline, masticated and bleeding out the sides of selfish slits.

smiling, comatose, in love, not feeling

Molotov cocktail mountains of mummified orgy, spun webs spilled

out drawers in bedrooms, plumeria spills around air

shaded skin slaps fresh, glistens, shakes in drug withdraw somber sunrise

in the arms of a stranger

spatter spatter, sliding of their skin on yours, 

wet feet on damp bath towels on top wet floors.

the girl says, she says “I am a firestorm of your integral embodiment, I am the palmless christ... I am the anti-eucharist.... the bulimic communion.... take my body, make immortal of my blood.”

...and than to die

.........................

He never saw accessories hung so properly around a room in such a disorganized fashion but purposefully and carefully. 

Hats on the corners of bookshelves, shaws draped off framed mirrors and a vanity, beads and pendants hung over light fixtures.

Much unlike last night when the hesitant light fixed itself shaking in tiny rays through the nights aperture.

whether this aperture were the stars or moons or windows, but the outlines of contents barely seen, could only be smelled.

the musk of books, dirty clothes, tepid air, rawhide, wet leather, putrescent skin? 

.............................

he took her hand she lead him through the path of what was unknown,

he had a match in a cigarette pack, he thought of lighting one but did not.

“Is this him?” he said.

She fell forward, buried her face as soon as hitting the wet sheets, she buried her face down as hard as she could.

“Well.... I will need a shower before I go, when it’s morning”

This is what was said last night.

Her body said you can bathe in me.  Flooded by now of thought deceased.  Horribly religious was her mother and her mother before her.  

vases shaped like a venus figure made her feel a warmth for women that her mother could never extent beyond a serpentine smile.  Not seen now, she knew they were there, the shards kicked under the bed even in the day.

...........................

Like an effigy, the very air as life could not be heard from the lack of its future embraces with the wild as it drains out those who live within forested domain.

Crumbs of indulgences spilled at the tug of every sheet.

The summer felt to come just than as the wooded ambitions seemed to melt with the heat.

dusted piano keys swept over his eyes, bone or ivory?  The same thing.

something she used to play well, perhaps just grew bored with.

they were white in the nighttime in the morning they seeped with a vacant intention of welcoming something.  Taken between lips, vertical and than to horizontal.  sparks rain from as high as telephone wires.   she was dissected, split apart into pieces.  The light did come in the window.  He washed still unwrapping himself of her skin.  He noticed the animal bones that slept on her floor.  Piles of packages of sweets.  Hair and blood and gold teeth fillings.  He noticed the peculiar organization of her sparse trinkets and her hats, scarves, purses, and lockets.  He lit the match for a palmless christ.

the weight of wind. a soul of nothing. scavenged for the mask of a body of a boy.

i am death.

eh hahaha i am a piece of shit

i rushed away to my car... had somethin waiting inside of it.

i used to be attracted to somethin i suddenly wasn't

thought it was different.

still in love with a ritually based concept

animal furs

my friend and i just talked about you and starred

you got a nervous smile

you never know what we said.

nothin could bring me back to how it was before

it's always misinterpreted though

which just makes you even more stupid

i dunno

im real comfortable in knowing that

i cant be to clear on here

cause itd be misinterpreted

but im comfortable in knowin that.

we wished that girl would die

and she did the next day

came back as a butterfly or some shit

raining

went to a doctor for the first time in years
im not allowed to take sleepin pills for a week
people tell me i look like im dyin finally
...well.... good i guess
oregon is nice this time of year
out at M gallery tonight,
secret light&night party.
i could be a davide sorrenti model
but he's dead
do u still wanna meet me in chinatown next week?
i want an armsling
i want people to leave me alone
you know i dont want attention or need the friends that you do to feel good about yourself
still meet me in chinatown
and smoke with me
and you can make up your mind when everythin collapses on you
like clouds collapsin raindrops on your checkered burberry snood

You’ll never fumigate the demons
No matter how much you smoke
So just say you love me
Three good reasons
And I’ll throw you the rope

You don’t need it

Cos you are the survivor
Of more than one life
And you’re the only lover I had
Who ever slept with a knife

But you’re my Judy Garland
Oh Just like me you’ve never really had a home
But I’m not Tony Hancock baby
Until the dawn
We’ll stone the crows
We’ll stone the crows
We’ll stone the crows


And you see I’ve brought you flowers
All collected from the Old Vic Stage
Well I’ve been sitting here for hour’s baby
Just chasing these words
Across the page

Cos you’re my Waterloo
I’ll be your Gypsy Lane
I’m so glad we know just what to do
And exactly who’s to blame

And you’re my Waterloo
I’ll be your Stanley Park
Well I’m so glad we know just what to do
And no ones left
Stumbling around
Fumbling around
Tumbling around
In the dark

Always in the dark

You’re my Waterloo
I’ll be your Calvary
Well I’m so glad we know just what to do
And everyone’s gonna be happy
Everyone’s gonna be happy
Everyone’s gonna be happy

Of course

-the libertines

my best friend

My best friend (errors version) by convict gypsy

i was with you in the back of a building where trucks go étoile de mer
you wouldnt stop scratching your foot

i keep stabbing myself in the arm with a broken cross pendant

im gonna miss both my cats, ones already dead buried in the back yard of my parents' house

thanks for meetin me last night, i enjoyed out time together you forced me to grow up

but that was your purpose and to get me into leanord cohen to a horrible excess for awhile

shit fuck cunt bitch whore

bikes stolen, cars towed

dreams keep returning

they say "i want you babe"

whiskey introduced me to alot of people that night

i say i want my best friend and ill stick with them

like a table and an ashtray

a stupid grin on someone's face

cause they think theyre gonna save me

shit devils fuckin with me like crazy

inside out skin 

666 was written all over us on the stage

crows...i hear crows...its not even fuckin autumn...is it?

fuck compassion

glue

take dorito bags thrown down by skinny legs into a shopping cart

telekinesis fastest thoughts 

of where light starts. 

the word 'recyclable' drinkin itself from the clouds.

cause heaven is our trashcan now.

you were the baby in her womb

she replaced it with no one new but that's not as if, not to ensue,

crows didn't shadow midnight but on my face she was tattooed,

and it was okay cuz that day i crossed your name off my shoe

blue gum glued the rest to the street where youll end

stepped past solar trash compacters threw a bracelet on the ground

liquid skin dipping in and out soft and quiet or was it loud?

can you see it in my eyes before it comes out my mouth

why do you lie about not liking crowds?

im a werewolf at night i bathe in street light cocoons of artificial sight

wrapped in your jail house  of pocket filled ripped plastic bags

 licked the insides on the way back on the train

i remember

you wrote a love note in the dust of an antique table, smeared the must. i wasnt able to see, somethin about 'us'

you wanted this but were broke,

the table or my corny jokes?

disease

you know, a river of words don't believe in no happiness.

it's like nothin flows out when you got that kinda heat down in the south.  ghosts blanket my hair raised in cool flashes of death and its loneliness, grabbed your breast

or

i like warm milk to sleep

you can microwave that easy

she said

'anyone can be a stripper

and zombie tattoos are dumb

why does everyone

want to be the same person'

attention craved diamond face, a million little mirrors reflectin back your legs as ur hands sway forth as you pace and figure out if he was really worth any work. 

just a romantic idea, it's cool to have different stories to different people you can pour ur lemonade onto like scat porn or the truth 

Pocohauntus on her month long cruise.

did he like you or just use your words

when you say

'that's why im moving North to where people are focused on real things like money and divorce.

wealth as a means 

to buy my fancy antique tables and nice things'

 but I mean

I'm not a starving child, i dont pretend I just dont eat

the difference between isolation and solitude

are these the kind of things that get used against me and you?

under my feet, i step on every crack i think

if i could avoid superstition and demise

i stopped your fan with my mind

ive studied black magic at nighttime 

studied aloneness 

sent wolves to watch in windows and claw 

at the bars of hospital rooms and voices talk

to me i know it's god

got bit by a dog 

saying that i am not

i'm just a marabout

wiped my runny snotty snout on your shirt

nothin really hurts

just nothin heals 

heal like a dog

fur like a beached whale

cut myself like a fresh cut lawn

my armpit embraced death
or a spot on my neck
more death. dead dead dead

raise the sun up to the east i don't care where the sun will hit my feet

it's almost nighttime

like a sun dial is set on

when i die

i wanna kill myself

been thinkin about it all the time

rainbow prism in the sky

pictures on my phone

clock in the sky

have everythin to myself when i die

tumbleweed on city street

it looked like someone pulled out some bitches weave

you asked what's freedom but more choices to ruin your life?

i guess i said if i had a choice I wouldnt have ever been alive

i got slapped by you.

you said livin was beautiful,

you were once a baby in a womb

but so were you

in the grass i leaned

rubbed off the letters of tags

of tornados i dreamed

drugged, beaten, dragged

alive to just die

i hate the internet, im done

i cant stand people who try to look tragic.  i like people when they try to just look ok.

separated at birth

Posing in front of distant city lights, deadened wood hands reach up to furtive shades of visionary oblivion.
Encompassing abated emotions, aggregated beneath the sound of feral stars. Among menageries of clandestine heartbeats, posterior paw prints and sleeping breath. It peers out from distant hills, we share with each other, phlegmatic in our interest. Dead. Arrant animals through the lustrous brush, we tiptoed through your kitchen at night coming through the delicate screen doors. We crawled into your farm equipment to cultivate our selfish lack of reason. Slipped past the daunted houses squeezing themselves closer to one another as if ahsamed, they were looking down not looking at our eyes.

Moaning train passed in front or behind, the sound carried to us from years ago, from places no one knows.  Strange beings emitting sounds intermittently passing, considering limit seemingly ceremonious, as such were distant.

I touched the planets and arranged them around, caressing as a passion and we created the shade and the trains kept under oceans forever, smitten with cabalistic vibrations hunched forth by slabs of rock that set on my soul among whale and krill far from any shore.

Hold your claws within me for I no longer suffer.  I have found myself scattered about the roots of thistle and wild garlic and even outside basement windows where I watched, my stare never extended emotion, my dysorexia never intrigued for I have found my love within your soft fur.
I have found it with a complete neglect for the dwellings within that forbade our wandering with discernment. Found purpose with a complete disregard for them.  Found warmth from the fire.  Now we learn how to make shade.

"i have no one to talk to.  i'm running out of options.  i only have two of them left.  The gun or the swimming pool, the gun or the swimming pool."

bar talk

explain beauty in one endless sentence.  subject and predicate, adverb and faucet water.  

brush of horse hair, ran wild with earthy breath now dipped in paint on canvas, 

green to deaden the blush.  

gauche, face laden...patterned skin through shades of printed windows in dusty bars fading,

as afternoon nears evening, and dialogue loses its usual cadence.  

wonder made damp, paltry, disguised,

over in the corner by the jukebox machine, reflectin’ solemn eyes.  

crippled among cripple is done, I guess they're crows are they? 

band of instinct, as brothers are one.  

one among apart and running water runs.  

rising death in orange set sun.

kitchen appliances pushed as perimeter to white counter tops, faucet trickle, 

is that red wine in a jug among tin pots its contents in weight fickle?

is that murder outside the windows, a sea of drown cat calls caught.

in the branches of swaying buoys with the wind balanced and taut?

never christened at birth or there foreafter, I love a lot still 

but empty as chalice under wood cross, shunning hands from shaw.  

dirty as clean as wine in water, dreamland of death, love and war, cannon fodder.

secular as wine cork to undo and thus open,

rock from roman, from brushy thistle and footstep from cave

after purity, after betrayal,  after resurrection, after three days,

to drain from unplugged ocean,

to take away the waves.

i am dead and I don't care, placement or shape

take me from earth,

jewelry from purse

from stillbirth.

how waterfall over jutting rock cleft,

living life left or trickle of rightly darkened death sets.

all the beauty gone in the exhale of one endless,

sentence.

subject, predicate, adjective, breath.